


Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do.

by amorremanet



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Biting, Cheerleaders, Community: spn_hardcore, F/F, Fingerfucking, First Time, Library Sex, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP; Jenny Ackles is probably the hottest member of the cheer squad — so why doesn't Jeri Padalecki notice her back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do.

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://henriettaholden.livejournal.com/profile)[**henriettaholden**](http://henriettaholden.livejournal.com/) 's prompt at [](http://spn-hardcore.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_hardcore**](http://spn-hardcore.livejournal.com/)'s [virginity/first time fic meme](http://spn-hardcore.livejournal.com/518906.html): _Cheerleader Jen watches virgin Jared in their chem class, but she doesn't know she watches back. All Jen wants to have is a piece of that ass._

Jeri Padalecki has a fantastic ass. Everybody knows.

Well, everybody knows but Jeri Padalecki. Every day, she comes to school wearing jeans and t-shirts and flannels that probably got handed down from her older brother, or maybe she just has to buy guys' jeans because she's taller than most of the basketball team, but whatever the reason, her pants are baggy, and they're shapeless, and they still can't hide that firm, curvy ass of hers.

It strains the seats of her pants. You can hear the seams _almost-snapping_ — holding their breath and heaving sighs of relief — when she bends over, just like you can see the stress lines on her shirts' decals and just like you can see her buttons creaking under the weight of her enormous rack. And then she gets _surprised_ when Creepy Drama Club Misha or Richard From The Swim Team or Genevieve The Lesbian Performance Artist Chick grope her in the lunch line or try to cop a feel while she's walking to the bike rack.

She's such a virgin — a first-class, over-excited, stumbles trying to say anything that isn't the right answer to one of Mister Morgan's questions about atoms or compounds or what makes a solution different than a solute, probably hasn't ever even put her cell on vibrate and used it to get off while watching Gaston trying to kill the Beast, capital-v Virgin.

Not that Jenny Ackles has used her phone to masturbate to Disney. God, no, _please_ — she pulls that trick while watching the Batman/Joker scenes of _The Dark Knight_. She has _class_ , okay?

Not enough class to keep from staring at Jeri during class. But that's not her fault, Jenny thinks. It's nobody's fault, really. Jeri just has these _cheekbones_ , and this _jawline_ , and these _eyes_ — her eyes scream "VIRGIN" more than anything else about her. They're not really wide or big or anything, and she doesn't look like some friend to all living things princess bitch who could sing about true love and get little woodland creatures to make her a badass prom dress, but her _eyes_ , man, they're just ... innocent. Non-judgmental. And not in the space-cadet way.

They smile, even when she doesn't have her obnoxious, sunshiny, _sweet tap-dancing Jesus I might as well be a puppy_ grin plastered on her face, and there's been more than one class where Jenny's zoned out completely, knocked her Vitamin Water or her pompoms over with her elbows even, because she can't stop looking at Jeri Padalecki, Big Virgin on Campus. At first, she feels creepy for it — sure, fine, she's the Token Lesbian Cheerleader, but really? Staring at some girl she's never talked to before, just because Jeri's hotter than the surface of the sun? Who the fuck is she now, Edward Cullen?

But it doesn't stay that way. Staring becomes a part of class. Jenny sits there in freezing chem lab, in her assigned seat next to Baby Activist Vicki Vantoch and her messenger bag that has buttons voicing all of her opinions for her. She looks up at Mister Morgan with his nine o'clock shadow and the cock of his hips that's totally going to get him called a pedophile sooner or later whether or not it's true. Jenny doesn't have to try that hard to look like she's paying attention. Scribble down a few notes on mols or whatever, doodle what Jeri would look like if she didn't dress like she's going to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival every day, then clear her mind and thank God that Jeri's head is right in front of the blackboard so, no matter how much Jenny's watching her hair swish around her jaw, or ogling the way her lips wrap around her water bottle's mouth, it looks like she really gives two shits about the incomprehensible numbers on the board.

By Halloween, anybody else in the school would've noticed and said something. Vicki and Misha have noticed and said something. They've told Jenny how the whole junior class knows already and how the football team's taking bets on whether or not Jeri's going to be able to resist her. Whether Jeri's going to drop the, "Sorry, but I'm straight" bomb, or whether she just doesn't buy the _how do you know you don't like girls if you've never even kissed one_ line that Jenny used to get in Danneel's pink satin panties over the summer.

And it all makes Jenny wonder: maybe she really _is_ losing her touch? She dresses up as Sailor Fucking Moon for Halloween, even. Gets Dani to help her put the costume together and everything. Because Jeri's a nerd, so she should be all over that shit. What part of a tight white shirt, big red bows on Jenny's tits and ass, fuck me red leather boots, and a skirt that barely passes the knuckle-test _doesn't_ get a nerd revved up? Genevieve flirts with Jenny, Misha flirts with Jenny, Vicki doesn't flirt but points out how her bra falls short when the classroom gets Jenny's nipples hard — everybody says something but Jeri.

She doesn't go out trick-or-treating with the girls that night, and she skips dinner, too. Instead, Jenny locks herself up in her room and tries to find _any_ reason why Jeri would ignore her like this. Jenny's hot enough, isn't she? Sure, fine, she's not some ginormous Amazon, and she's not tiny and skinny like Taylor Swift or some shit — okay, she has these wonky bow-legs, and there's a thin layer of extra flesh sitting on top of her abs, and her lips feel too big for her face sometimes, and she hate, hate, _hates_ the freckles that cover every inch of skin that's ever seen the light of day. But she's hot, right?

Couldn't tell, considering there are days when she does nothing but stare at Jeri and all it's gotten Jenny so far is a big fat heap of _nothing_.

Luckily, though, Jenny has perseverance and she doesn't have enough class to keep from demanding that Mister Morgan make Jeri her partner for the next group project thing. It's on Archimedes or Anaximander or some other dead Greek dude, and Jenny couldn't give a shit less if she tried. The project's about as important as learning Latin. She's seen all the teen movies and after-school special dramas. She _knows_ that group projects are the best way to get your man.

Or hot girl who wears boys' clothes, in this case.

Whatever. Jeri Padalecki is _hers_.

***

  
"So, I'm thinking of, like ... we can't just do the same thing as everybody else ..."

Jenny nods, but she only knows what Jeri's saying because she can guess from the way her lips move. _God_ , she thinks and fights the urge to sigh like some starry-eyed chick flick heroine — _But Jesus God, Mary, Joseph, and Melissa Etheridge — Christ, I love those lips_. (She doesn't know if she really loves them yet, but the 'yet' is the most important word there. For now, she loves how smooth Jeri's lips are, how the curve of the bottom one looks just like the other girl's ass in today's set of breaking up the back jeans.)

She puts her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table; she lets her shoulders slump, and she leans forward. Not too far forward ... but this is her patented Awesome Boob Shirt. Sugar pink, so she doesn't look intimidating, with thin blue and purple plaid lines, so she doesn't fade into the background. Tight because she bought it one size down — unbuttoned to her cleavage (amped up by her patented Awesome Boob Bra), riding up when she pretends she's ignoring it and showing off her skin like, _so what if I don't have perfect abs; you want me, you need me, there's no one else who you want more._

Her skirt is short, her makeup immaculate, and so far, this "study session in the back of the library" idea has only gotten her a run-down of Jeri's ideas on hydrogen bonds vs. ionic bonds.

"I mean," Jeri continues, "Mister Morgan's not going to expect a lot from us in the way of saying anything innovative. It's not even AP Chem — it's just ... With the same topic, there's a lot of room for overlap, you know?"

"Oh, I know," Jenny says. She'd rather overlap her thighs with Jeri's, or get the girl to notice how her tits are grinding against each other already. They'd chafe without the bra there, they're going at each other so hard. "Totally. Totally."

"So that's why — or, I think that's why, anyway. Why ... presentation's such a big part of the grade. And why we need to be, you know, different from everybody else." She runs her fingers through her hair. Jenny'd rather be fingering Jeri's hair for her. Carpet _and_ drapes, if she could manage it — and she probably could today. With Misha, Vicki, and Genevieve causing a scene in the caf, there's almost nobody else here.

Just her and Jeri.

Jeri, who coughs but doesn't say jack squat when she feels Jenny's ankle stroking up and down her calf.

Jeri, whose bangs are getting lost in the rest of her hair, which goes to just past her jaw and looks so easy to tug.

Jeri, who keeps _looking into Jenny's eyes_. Even if Jenny weren't wearing her Awesome Boob Shirt, this is just awkward. How the Hell is she supposed to stare at Jeri's eyes when the precious little princess won't let her go without getting eye-contact?

It's totally ridiculous, too, because isn't she supposed to _want_ eye-contact from whoever she's interested? Jenny sighs and lets her eyes fall down to Jeri's cleavage, listens to her rabbit on about ... whatever it is. More than listening, Jenny lets the words rush by her, blah blah bonding, yadda yadda chemical reactions, something or other about the periodic table — more interesting than all of that is the rise and fall of Jeri's breasts while she talks. The way she takes deep breaths, thinking she's going to say something longwinded and brilliant, then hacks the oxygen up and goes into shorter clauses, choppy sentences, falling all over her words like a baby falling all over itself. This kind of thing should not be so charming. She sounds like she's high.

She probably doesn't even notice Jenny staring.

"What'd you have in mind, anyway?" Jenny says, because it's been a while since she said anything resembling a real sentence.

"What d'you, I just ..." Jeri pauses, and for a moment, looks at Jenny like she's grown a second head. "I just said that — I was just saying that we should do something that's not a skit because everyone else is—"

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Jeri blinks. She sighs and scratches at the back of her neck. She looks like words want to come out but can't make her mouth cooperate in making them happen. The question sits down between them and for all Jenny can see, it's probably covering itself in whipped cream — she doesn't think she meant to say it. But that could be the side-effect of the silence. Which sounds worse than rusty nails on chalkboards and which needs to set itself on fire already. And as Jeri looks like she's going to say something, finally, Jenny interjects and asks again:

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah, I guess, I mean, I ... I don't—"

"You don't think I'm pretty? ... I think you're pretty—"

"Wait did you just say you think I'm—"

"Yeah. I did. Is that a problem?" Jenny can't even believe that she's gotten herself into this kind of mess. Why doesn't anything ever follow the script she wants it to? She and Jeri are supposed to be making out by now, well on the way to defiling this damn library ... not staring at each other, then looking away, and back to staring, daring the other to do something first. _It is not supposed to happen this way!_ Jenny sighs, shaking her head and letting her hair fall toward the table. Words. Making them work. She can do this. She's Jenny Ackles, for God's sake. She can handle anything.

"Hey, look," she says, "I'm sorry — I didn't really mean it ... the way it came out. That was bad—"

"Not really _bad_ , it was just—"

Her hand snaps up and she all but glares at Jeri. "I'm apologizing to you, okay?" Jeri nods. "So you're gonna keep quiet until I'm done, right?" Another nod, and Jenny continues: "It wasn't bad, you're right — but it was really defensive and you didn't deserve that. So I'm apologizing. But, like ... how long have we been in class together?"

"Two-and-a-half months." Jeri doesn't even need to think before she says that — a fact Jenny doesn't know what to do with. It could mean too many things for her to think about.

"Right. Two-and-a-half months, and ... when, exactly, was the first time we talked?"

This one, Jeri does stop to consider, ducking her head and zoning out at the table, and she doesn't come back into the real world with an answer. "... Are you hitting on me, Jen?"

For all that vacant look behind Jeri's eyes is _adorable_ , Jenny really just wants to punch something. What the Hell kind of response is that? It feels more than likely that she's just pissy because Jeri's only taken two-and-a-half-fucking-stupid-goddamn months to put two and two together, but these logistics are the last thing Jenny wants to think about. Absolute last. Except for maybe the way she's furrowing her brow so much it hurts. And how Jeri runs her teeth along her lower lip, then licks it. And whether or not Jeri's stomach's doing these same backflips — but _after all of those things_ , the logistics are the last ones on Jenny's mind.

Pretty much everything goes out the window when she grabs the collar of Jeri's flannel and yanks the freaking She-Hulk across the table, down into a kiss.

Getting kissed back makes her heart rattle against her ribcage.

But, cool — she has to keep her cool, so she doesn't let this get to her; she grinds her lips into Jeri's like this isn't doing anything to her and like her head's still on the ground, not trying to float off into outer space. The smoothness makes sense, finally: Jeri's lips have an afterglow taste of Dr. Pepper lip balm. Probably a few hours old, but still there. Still canceling out how dry her mouth is and how her tongue, when it crashes into Jenny's, is eager but has no fucking idea what it's doing. But Jenny keeps the kiss going anyway. She's hungry for it, for the charity of sharing her saliva with a mouth that needs it — there's some contest going on between her and herself, judging how far she can get her tongue down Jeri's throat.

Jeri moans, but it's half a whimper. Pleasured, sure, but wobbling and uncertain, and not a call for anybody to try and taste the rest of her breakfast. Jenny slackens her grip on Jeri's shirt, pulls back just enough to whisper, "Have you even done this before?"

True to form, Jeri lets the words teeter out of her mouth on their own accord — her lips flop open and closed, open and closed; _ums_ and _ahs_ and _er, I_ -s assail Jenny's ears — "Never — never quite that so much, I ... but I've kissed ..."

"You gay?"

Jeri shrugs. "It's not — I mean, I — never really had the chance to —"

Jenny kisses her again — slower, softer, so tender she barely knows her lips have found Jeri's again. "Could show you," she offers. "Or help you figure it out at least. If you don't mind giving up your first time anyway."

Jeri holds off a minute, then nods, whispers that she doesn't mind — that Jenny's pretty, and nice, and she trusts her, she guesses, even if she doesn't really think the library's the best place to, you know, _do it_. She actually says _do it_ , which is possibly cuter than the way she wrinkles her nose when she doesn't get an answer perfectly right. Jenny snickers. Nods. Gives her one last little, gentle kiss because, really, there's no time for making out, even though Jeri's pretty good at it.

Anywhere else, and Jenny'd make a big deal out of romancing a girl who's this high-strung, stripping her good and proper and rubbing down all of Jeri's sinewy muscles, kissing her all over and giving her a better warm-up — but a quick glance up at the wall clock says they've only got fifteen minutes until next bell, and though a cursory glance doesn't show anybody lurking around, Jenny doesn't trust people not to decide that _now_ is the perfect time to come asking about shit that doesn't matter. They've just got to make the best of what little they have. Jenny lets Jeri's shirt go and slithers underneath the table; she gets a good spot on her knees, and palms up and down Jeri's thighs by way of saying _sink down in the chair so I can actually get at your pussy, Gigantor._

Which works better than Jenny expects. Jeri juts her hips forward and slips them down in her seat, and Jenny all but tears her fly apart. Button here, zipper there — obstructions, both of them, just like the cotton boy-shorts Jenny finds hiding underneath them. She smirks, chuckles just a little bit at the sight of the Superman logo; even though she'd love to comment on it, she claws into the waistbands and yanks both jeans and underwear down to Jeri's knees. Pressing her elbows into Jeri's thighs, she keeps the other girl's legs separated, just to make her own life easier.

It should go fast and fevered, but for a moment, Jenny pauses. She has to appreciate the craftsmanship down here — the sharp angles of Jeri's hips, the way her thighs don't bulge but are obviously strong enough to crush Jenny's head between them. She slaps the inside of Jeri's right leg; nothing ripples or jiggles, not even a little bit, or if it does, it's too dark under the table for Jenny to see it — and God, what kind of work-out does this girl do to get ripped the way she is? She digs her thumb and finger into the flesh, kneads against the muscles (not looking for any knots to work out or trying to be productive; just curious, _needing_ to know how every inch of Jeri's body feels); Jenny nudges enough to suggest that Jeri come _ever-so-tiny-little-bit-closer_ — which she does. So good. So compliant. And now, so close.

Close enough for Jenny to see that at least something took care of Jeri's hymen for her.

Actually popping cherries is the worst fucking buzz-kill. Plus, they'd have to explain the blood if they got caught.

Jenny says a silent thanks that she hasn't painted her nails lately and lets her hand fall to Jeri's pussy. Thumb first — she brushes it through the coarse hairs, ghosts it around the outer lips, slips it between them. It's moister down here — not _wet_ , yet, but damp. Much nicer than inside Jeri's mouth. Jenny takes her thumb back soon enough, though, drags it along the skin; presses hard enough against them to make Jeri gasp, takes enough care in doing so that she's not going to hurt her.

" _Oh, God_ ..." Half-whisper, half-whimper, it slips out of Jeri's mouth, and Jenny retaliates with her other fingers. Skims her index finger here, over Jeri's clit, then under it, over again, and away — back down to her pussy-proper. She's slick, enough for Jenny to get her middle finger in there as well, but Jeri's muscles still tighten around her as she nudges around, pads her finger tips and the flat, soft edges of her nails along the walls — she hears Jeri's breath hitch and pauses, working one spot over until Jeri's breaths go kiddie pool shallow, quick and heavy and burning up with sighs, moans, groans.

And all bets are off now — the fingers come out, and Jenny dives in headlong, mouth open, tongue ready. Jeri's clit is ready for her, too, thank God — she laps around in the moisture, licks along Jeri's lower lips, teases, teases, teases some more — and to enough effect that she smirks against Jeri's pussy. Jeri's hand falls to Jenny's back and grips on, but she doesn't notice the shape of Jenny's mouth pressing its smug curves against her hole. Or maybe she does. She's too busy huffing, "Jenny — oh my — oh _God_ —"

Jenny doesn't go after the clit tenderly, tough, not when time's short and the thing's red and swollen and _waiting_ for her. Teeth come first — she grazes them down the top of Jeri's clit, relishes the deep gasp she hears above her. With a flick of the tongue against its underside, she gets the clit between both sets of pearly whites and rubs it around, rubs them down it, then up again, snaps her tongue against it for good measure. Tactics switch — it's all tongue now, but with the same desperation of before; Jenny doesn't give Jeri long swathes of muscle into muscle, but knocks her tongue around, pounds it into Jeri's clit as much as she can manage, tries to shove the thing back up into its unaroused state. Jeri moans; her fingers press harder into Jenny's shoulder-blade, shift forward so that the nails have a chance to dig in; were it not for Jenny's Awesome Boob Shirt, Jeri Padalecki would be giving her cat-scratches and that thought's hot enough she wants to start getting herself off too.

But Jeri's the virgin here, and it's about here. Jenny curls her tongue up in the clit and for a moment, considers maybe possibly dragging this out —

But the bell rings first, and she's pretty sure that she's got muff-mouth enough for suffering through Mister Sheppard's English class.

Her tongue snakes back into her mouth, and her teeth go back to Jeri's clit. She grinds them there once, twice, and then pulls back, teeth still fixed on the nub of nerves and skin and muscle, dragging along it as slowly as she can allow — and with one last nip. Another groan falls out of Jeri's lips. Her nails force themselves harder still against Jenny's shirt and skin, and on the tail of the groan comes a shudder — no lady-jizz at least, and Jenny's glad for that. Saves her the trouble of washing it off her face.

She leans back, for the first time since she started this, and looks up at Jeri's face — the flushed cheeks, the angry red shade that still hasn't left her lips (and might bruise — Jenny kind of hopes it does), the eyes she hasn't opened yet.

"Not quite covalent bonding shit or whatever," Jenny snarks. "But here's hoping it was good enough for you."

"I ..." Jeri starts; she cuts herself off, a deep breath flooding her as she tries to steady herself. The gears in her head are back to turning, but Jenny takes it as a personal accomplishment that Jeri's having trouble getting them started up again. "I think," Jeri says again. "... I mean. I don't know about, well ... either you're just really good, or I ... I could be gay."

Jenny shrugs. "No rule says it can't be both, Jay." And she smacks Jeri's thigh again — playfully, like a kitten with some string. "Come on. Get your pants back on."


End file.
